


It's Gotta Be At Least Two Hundred Stairs to the Bottom!

by KateKintail



Category: Supernatural
Genre: OhSam Triple Play 2015
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-01-29
Updated: 2017-01-29
Packaged: 2018-09-20 14:11:51
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 967
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9494996
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/KateKintail/pseuds/KateKintail
Summary: Sam climbed out of the window, coughing freely to expel the thick, toxic smoke from the explosion from his lungs.





	

Sam climbed out of the window, coughing freely to expel the thick, toxic smoke from the explosion from his lungs. His elbow hit the side of the window. His back scraped the bottom of the pane of glass. But his foot found purchase on the rickety metal fire escape. A year ago he’d been sitting in a class, learning the finer points of debate, and now here he was, standing on a fire escape after tracking a supernatural creature even Dad’s journal hadn’t been able to identify. Yep. This was his life now. 

Sam heard the unmistakable sound of fighting coming from somewhere below. But the sound bounced off the walls of the alleyway and there was no telling where the fight was or even who was winning. Sam lunged forward, gripping the railing to look down, but he couldn’t see anything in that or any other direction. “Cough! Dean! Cough, cough!” he could barely breathe, let alone shout. So he cleared his throat and tried again. “Dean!”

“Sam!” came the reply from… from somewhere. “I need some help down here!” called his brother who never, ever asked for help during a fight unless he was truly about to lose. 

“M’coming!” Sam shouted back before his voice dissolved into a stream of unrestrained coughs. He threw himself toward the stairs leading down to the level of the fire escape before this top one. Which then led to the level before it and the one before that and so on. And once upon a time, Sam Winchester might have been able to tackle on the stairs easily. He would have been able to take them two at a time. He would have been able to get part of the way down and jump the rest of the way, skipping the bottom three or even four stairs entirely. 

But that was before the accident, before his leg was crushed to pieces, before the pins and surgeries. The doctors had tried everything to fix it, and at least now Sam could put weight on it. But unless there were some miracle, unless an angel came down from Heaven and healed it, it would never be perfect. It would never move quite the right way again. He could never put his full weight on it. And, usually, that wasn’t a problem. Usually he could keep up with Dean just fine, watch his brother’s back, pull his own weight in a hunt. But the one thing he wasn’t so good at was stairs. 

Going up stairs wasn’t that bad either. He could lean against the wall to support himself and step up with his good leg, then pull his other one up behind it without needing to bend it in a way it didn’t bend any more. But that was good enough. That worked. Going down stairs, on the other hand, wasn’t so good. He had to grip tight to the rickety railing, swing his bad leg out to the side, drop his good leg down, and steady himself on both feet before repeating the process. 

His gate was irregular, his progress slow. And listening to the fight below was maddening. Dean was down there, being attacked, losing the fight. Dean needed help. But there were so many stairs between Sam and Dean now. So many clanging, shaking stairs to navigate.

“Sammy? I could really use your help right about now!”

“I’m trying, Dean,” Sam called out, though probably not loud enough for Dean to hear. Sam held tight to one of the railings on a landing, looking down at the steps zig-zagging one way then the other to the ground. “It's gotta be at least two hundred stairs to the bottom!” 

The only answer was a grunt followed by a gunshot. 

Dean! Sam limped to the next set of stairs and managed to lumber down them, clattering and bumping along as fast as he could. The building had so many floors—too many floors, too many stairs. His bad leg hurt from all the weight he was trying to put on it and from over-using his knee. But he had to get to Dean. He didn’t have a choice about that. Nine flights to go. Eight. “Dean?” Seven. Six. Five. Sam clung to a railing and tried to catch his breath before resuming. That smoke had really done a number on him. Four. Three. “I’m nearly there, Dean!” Two. One. 

There was a rolling ladder down to the ground, and Sam kicked and pushed to release it. As though he were newly injured, he bent his weak leg, gripped both sides of the ladder, and bounced down it on one foot only. 

When he finally reached the ground, he looked around. “Dean! Dean?” No answer. “Dean?” Sam looked around wildly and spotted a familiar pair of boots sticking out from beneath a dumpster. Limping unevenly over as fast as he could, Sam made it to Dean’s side. He bent down, glad to not be moving at last and glad to find Dean had only been knocked out, not killed, not shot. It looked like Dean might be all right. 

Dean’s eyes fluttered open, and he gazed up as his brother. “You missed all the fun, you slowpoke.” Correction: Dean was definitely all right. 

Sam stretched his bum leg out and rubbed a hand up and down it. He’d probably have to ice it all night tonight, limping from the motel room to the ice machine and back. And they’d probably have to start all over figuring out how to track this creature that had already taken three lives in the downtown area this week. But as long as Dean felt good enough to tease him like normal, Sam didn’t care one bit. It was all just part of his life now.

**Author's Note:**

> Disclaimer: not my characters. I make no money.
> 
> Prompts:  
> 1\. fire escape  
> 2\. Dean  
> 3\. permanent limp


End file.
